FAIRY TALE FAIRY STORY - FLASH FICTION COMPETITION - PAGE 1

Once upon a time in a land not far from here all the children were bewitched. A powerful spell was cast on them by an evil giant, Iphonius, from the valley of Silicon. Like mindless zombies the children compelled their unsuspecting and compliant parents to buy strange new hand-held devices and continue to replace these with newer and ever-increasingly expensive models.

Soon an eerie quiet descended on the land save for the tapping of miniature keyboards and the insistent beeping of the mobile devices alerting the children to new games or images. Normal conversations ceased as the children communicated through their impersonal media. At mealtimes they were transfixed, staring into their screens. Their behaviour was soon adopted by their parents. It was not unusual for families to sit in restaurants without uttering a single word. Even ordering a meal was done by selecting items from the menu on the screen to limit personal interaction with the server.

Shunning exercise, staying indoors glued to their devices, the children became pasty-faced, introverted and obese with thumbs which grew to twice their normal size. They craved constant novelty and instant gratification. Their attention span became infinitesimal. Their grasp of grammar and vocabulary declined as they were encouraged to reduce communication to a stream of sound-bites. They lost the ability to form real, flesh and blood friendships and came to rely on phony virtual relationships. The children could not be separated from these mesmerising devices for more than a few minutes without suffering withdrawal symptoms.

Iphonius rubbed his hands with glee when he saw how his hypnotic invention was damaging the very fabric of society and the health and wellbeing of future citizens. He applauded the unstoppable torrent of cowardly, anonymous hatred transmitted through the devices. He revelled in the corrupting impact on young minds of hard-core pornography and the objectification of women. He cackled with delight at the secret time bomb he had lobbed into society. He knew the long term impact of the radiation emitted from his devices would wreak havoc on the reproductive potency of future generations.

Iphonius thought he had crippled the healthy culture of the land. But then his mortal enemy from the East, Vlad the Bare-Chested unleashed a devastating barrage of electronic thunderbolts. Suddenly all the mobile devices went dead never to be revived. But bad Vlad was furious when his sabotaging plan failed to cause total societal collapse

At first there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth as the children acclimatised to this strange new landscape. But as time went by they emerged blinking from their isolated lives indoors. They rediscovered the joy of communal play, with games which needed no more than a bat and ball or a skipping rope. The dark shadows under their eyes disappeared. They started to read books made of paper rather than by scanning a silver screen. Family relationships and personal friendships blossomed again. 

The spell was broken and the children lived happily ever after in their brave old world. 

I wake to the sound of whispering. Someone is in my bedroom. I lie still, listening. I hear them again, the whispers.

Two voices, tinkling, light as a feather.

“Where shall we put them?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did they tell us?’

“I thought you were listening.”

“I thought you were.”

I strain to see through the darkness. There are two small lights, twinkling, no more than pinpoints. Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?

“Who’s there?”

“Oh, I’ve dropped one,” comes a tiny voice.

I switch on the light. 

“Who are you?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

I sit up. There’s a tiny figure, standing on my bed near my feet, and there’s a beam of light, like a little miner’s lamp.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Sylvie, your tooth fairy. I’m sorry we woke you.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“My friend, Plunge. He’s there on the floor.”

I look over the side of my bed. There’s another point of light.

“I don’t believe in ….”

“DON’T SAY IT! “ they shout together. “If you say that one of us will die.”

“Sorry.“ 

Why am I saying sorry? It’s my room. 

“Why are you here?”

“To return your teeth.”

“What teeth?” 

I run my tongue over my front teeth to check if they are still there.

“When you were young your baby teeth came out and you put them under your pillow.”

“Yes. My parents left me sixpences.”

“No, it was us, your tooth fairies.”

“That’s what my parents said but I never believed them.”

The second figure appears on the bed. I don’t know how he got there. He just appeared.

‘Sylvie’s right. It was us and now we’re returning them.”

“What for?” 

I can’t quite get to grips with the fact I’m having a discussion with two fairies.

“Shall I tell him?” says Plunge.

“No, I’ll tell him.”

“Please, one of you tell me.”

Sylvie says, “There are two reasons. First, no child is satisfied with sixpence any more. There are no sixpences and it became too expensive to leave more.”

“Accountants are in charge now,” added Plunge.

Sylvie glares at Plunge. “I was going to tell him.”

“Go on then,” says Plunge.

“All right, I am.”

“I don’t care, as long as some one does,” say I.

“No need to be tetchy,” says Plunge.

Before I can answer, Sylvie carries on.

“We are just overloaded with teeth, all carefully filed away. Think how much fairy power is wasted doing that and imagine how large our filing systems are.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Well they are,” says Plunge. “So the decision was taken at the highest level to give them back”

“ We are downsizing. We have fewer fairies now because the young don’t believe …… Well, you know.”

And they disappeared.

When I woke next morning, I thought I’d dreamt it but there, under my pillow was a little bag full of baby teeth.

Real life is not a fairy tale. 

Tell me about it.

I’ll wager my life savings that Cinderella didn’t worry about there being enough toilet rolls to last the weekend or whether the salt grinder needed filling. Himalayan Rock Salt. The pink stuff.

As far as fairy tale princesses go, Cinderella had a difficult backstory. I’ll give her that. Not only did she lose her parents, but she had to contend with her wicked stepmother and two ugly step-sisters ordering her around all the time.

‘Cinderella! Bring me my tea!’ ‘Cinderella! Where’s my favourite corset?!’ ‘Cinderella! Come clip my toenails!’ 

Bossy wenches. 

Come to think of it, it sounds a lot like my life. Like Cinderella, I, too, am up at first light, scrubbing, cooking, and doing everyone’s bidding. Every. Bloody. Day.

‘Babes, will you bring me a fresh towel?’ ‘Mum, where are my high-tops?!’ ‘Mum, I’ve got a back pimple. Come pop it for me!’ 

You see? Similarities. 

I know what you’re thinking. ‘But poor Cinderella wasn’t allowed to go to the ball!’

Boo hoo, I say. Get over it. 

Honestly? I don’t understand why she carried on grumbling the way she did. 

‘Woe is me! I shall have to sit at home with no one but my animal friends to keep me company.’ 

I should be so lucky to have a night in all to myself. The opportunity to zone out and watch what I want to watch on the telly? Yes, please. A few blissful hours of cognitive tranquility would be a welcome change.

The dog, by the way, can stay.

Allow me to spell out how Cinderella’s fairy tale circumstances differ from mine. 

Mental load, that’s how.

The mostly unrecognised, generally unappreciated worry work involved in managing a modern-day household. It’s not about the actual physical labour—any ding-dong can separate the whites from the darks, change a lightbulb, or pick up milk (the one with the green cap) from the shops. It’s more about being the person solely responsible for overseeing those mundane but necessary tasks. Remembering what needs to get done where and when. Delegating jobs, but also having to make sure they actually get done because, you know, they seldom do without three or more reminders. I wake up every morning with a never-ending list of to-do items running through my mind on an infinite loop. It’s exhausting. 

Cinderella didn’t suffer mental load. She simply followed orders. If anything, it was her wicked stepmother who carried that thankless burden. It’s her you should feel sorry for. 

Not to be nasty, but I take great pleasure in knowing that Cinderella will get her comeuppance after her so-called happily ever after. She thinks she married Prince Charming, when what she actually settled for was just another mollycoddled mama’s boy who’s never run a hoover. Once the royal brats arrive … LOL. She, too, will get a taste of mental load and all the headaches that come with it. 

Where’s that story?

Once upon a time there was a beautiful fairy that helped lots of children, but everything changed. The elfin like face had bloated beyond recognition, porcelain skin now had a grey sheen. Her hair in spikes, more white cotton than spun golden silk.

Tesse O’Shea was right, ‘Nobody loves a fairy when she’s 40’!

Tina scowled at her reflection in the pond, ‘It’s just not fair’ she cried.

Turning away, she caught the outline of her silhouette, additional fairy rings around her middle.  Tina wanted to cut her shadow off and leave it discarded on the ground. Flying took a lot more effort these days. She had to flap her gossamer wings longer and harder to get off the ground, whilst her bingo wings continued wobbling like jelly. By the time she was ready for take-off, she was drenched, perspiration from places she didn’t know could perspire.

She’d chosen the name Tina when she started her new life under the Witness Protection scheme. After the trial she’d been moved to a pretty grotto just outside Glen Shee. Tina was now one of the mountain rescue team, helping walkers and climbers disorientated by the mists and fogs that came rolling over the hills. By sprinkling her fairy dust and ringing her tiny bell, she would get lost boys and girls back to safety.

Tina wondered if there had been any point in taken on a new identity? Nobody really noticed her anymore, it seemed she was invisible to most since she’d moved to Scotland.  She missed her old life, but most of all she missed ‘The Boy’. Her mistake was falling in love with the person she was meant to protect. It had clouded her judgement and she’d breached the Fairy Promise Code.

Things changed when The Boy bought a family to stay. He paid the new girl a lot of attention, Tina didn’t like her. Another girl just spoilt everything. Tina sighed as she remembered the day she’d been kidnapped by The Boy’s archenemy. He was a cruel, evil man with long dark hair resembling black candles. He’d said if she told him where the secret hiding place was he would ensure this new girl would be removed and she would have The Boy back to herself. At the court case Tina tried to argue that she’d told him the secret to save her life. Of course this argument failed. She was under no threat, she was just being used to get to The Boy.

Her actions put many lives at risk.  The secret hiding place was where the Lost Boys lived, they now hated her. The Boy couldn’t look at her, she wanted to say sorry and explain that she’d done it out of love.

She fell in love with the boy that would never grow up, but when they had to leave Never-Never Land, they all grew up. In losing Peter Pan, Tinkerbell lost her youth, her beauty and her identity. Nobody loves a fairy when she’s 40. 

A long time ago in a far off kingdom a woodcutter’s wife gave birth to a baby girl named Elinor. She was exceedingly fair in aspect with large hazel eyes, lustrous chestnut hair and skin like fine porcelain. But sadly her perfection was marred. She had one leg much shorter than the other.

The woodcutter was heartbroken. He told his wife he feared he was to blame for his precious daughter’s deformity. The previous winter in a ferocious blizzard his axe had mistakenly felled a tree sacred to the local villagers. He and his wife had to flee to a distant part of the shire with the imprecations of the villagers resounding in their ears. The last chilling words they heard as they ran were, “A curse on all your children,” from the mouth of the feared high priestess.

The woodcutter could not afford to buy Elinor a special built-up shoe. Instead, he fashioned a wooden block to go under her foot which he wrapped in place with strips of cloth. He made her a rough-hewn crutch which stabilised her gait. Elinor was a model child with a kind heart and gentle, loving demeanour. After the sudden death of her mother she looked after her father with an uncomplaining diligence which brought tears to his eyes. Life would have been tolerable but for the cruelty of the local children.

Whenever she walked to the nearest settlement they mocked her lopsided walk. “Here comes limpy, gimpy girl,” was a familiar cry. She was often ambushed and held down whilst the bandage was ripped from her foot and her support was thrown from hand to hand. They taunted her as she vainly hobbled in circles trying to retrieve her wooden block. During her teenage years she became a virtual recluse to avoid her tormentors.

As the years went by, Elinor grew into a staggeringly beautiful young woman. One day as she sat on the grassy bank of a fast-flowing river a young man riding by was so bewitched by her luminous beauty that he swooned and fell into the swollen stream. Quick as a flash, Elinor held out her crutch which he caught and hauled himself gasping onto the bank at her feet. Their eyes met and as they later admitted it was as if they had known each other all their lives.

Edmund, for that was his name, was the Crown Prince who was on a tour to familiarise himself with the land he would one day rule. He was totally unconcerned about Elinor’s disability but he knew it caused her great distress. Just before their wedding he presented her with an exquisitely crafted shoe which gave her perfect equilibrium. 

On the big day, in her flowing bridal gown she floated serenely down the aisle on the arm of her proud father. The citizens were entranced by her poise and loveliness.

But sadly Edmund and Elinor didn’t live happily ever after. He drank and she ran off with the Court Jester.

Juno zipped this way and that, dropped onto a leaf here, a flower there, and sipped nectar from a tulip or two, before he noticed something new in faery wood. Noticed, is an understatement. Two giants were blundering through the undergrowth. He tugged on Io’s wing, as she hovered in front of an unusual flower. “Io, look at this! He pointed at the disturbance. What are those two lumbering man thingies doing? Haven’t seen one of those in five hundred years, and here’s two, large as life, clomping over the threshold into Faery land. I thought they couldn’t do that. Pied Piper’s not been around lately has he? Last time he came through here, dragging that whingeing crèche of never ageing infants in his wake, even the travelling gnomes upped caravans and moved out.” They’ll all want passports eventually. You know what will happen then. They’ll want asylum for their parents, and cousins, and god knows who else.”

Io stuck her fingers down her throat, and vomited up the nectar she’d just drunk. “Urggh! Venus fly trap! Didn’t think those things could grow in Faery land either. What’s going on around here?” She scooped a dewdrop off a nearby leaf, and rubbed the sick off her spider-silk tutu. “God it gets everywhere!.. Come on then, let’s have a look at your giants... Ooh! They’re only little children, barely more than babes. Oh shit! That’s how they got in. Look, they’re following a trail of smarties, leading strait from the human realm, right to that little cottage in the wood. The one made of gingerbread, with candy frosted roof. Don’t see too many of those around... Although...” she rubbed her chin, “I have heard of something like that before... Long time ago... Now what was it..?” The silver fairy penny finally dropped. “Bugger! We need to get down there, fast. Whatever you do, don’t eat any of that house. Shit! They’ve gone in. How much fairy dust you got in your purse? Now where’s my wand?” She rummaged around in her knickers. “Ah... got you, you little bugger. It grew to full size, as she pulled it out. Eeugh! Okay, Okay! My purse is full. Where else am I supposed to stick it?” She looked at it critically. “Haven’t used this in a hundred years!” Io breathed on it and gave it a rub. “There, good as new. Follow me! You take the back and I’ll go in the front…

The witch had just rubbed fat on the children, and was loading them in the oven, when Io burst in, in a cloud of fairy dust, with an uncontrolled wand, bucking and throwing out thunder bolts in every direction. Juno had long forgotten how, and so miscast a spell, that caused his purse to eat the witch. The children ran screaming, back through the magical smartie portal. It snapped shut behind them. Io and Juno were left spluttering, as his purse let out an enormous witchy fart.

Once upon a time there was a handsome young prince, Prince Frederick. But the prince felt very lonely because he lived by himself, locked away in a tower. His parents did not allow him out because he had a disease which meant that if he cut himself, he would not stop bleeding. They were worried in case he suffered an injury, and they were a little ashamed because of the prince’s problem, even though they should not have been. 

But the prince missed the company of others who were his own age, even though he had many servants who were all very kind to him.  Then one day the prince had an idea. He wrote a note which read, ‘I am alone in the tower and I have no friends. If you read this note, please will you come and speak to me’. The Prince threw the note out of the window, hoping that it would be found by someone who might be his friend.

Just at that moment, a beautiful princess, Princess Augusta, was riding by on her horse. She saw the note float down from the tower, so she grasped it and put it in her pocket.

She was very lucky because, at that moment, her servant, who had been sent by her father to protect her from strangers, was distracted by a lesser spotted woodpecker in the nearby woods, and did not see the princess grab the note.

That night, when she was alone in her room, the princess read the note. She knew that her father, King Henry, would not be pleased if she met someone he did not know, so hatched a plan.

She decided to go out with her servant the following day, as usual, but to take his attention away from her as she passed the tower. Just as they came close, the Princess threw a stone into the woods, which caused the birds to scatter and flutter. Her servant, Plod Dancer, who was a great bird watcher, became distracted, and went into the woods again. 

While Plod was away, the princess waved up to the tower, and her beautiful brown eyes met the deep blue eyes of the handsome prince, who had been waiting in hope.

It was at that moment that the prince and the princess fell in love. They knew that they were meant for each other, and no one else.

In time, they were married and went on to have four beautiful children, who they taught about the importance of respecting yourself and respecting others. 

Princess Augusta showing other young women that they could take on roles that, for so long, had belonged to men. Prince Frederick showed everyone that, even if life is difficult because you have a disability, you should never give up. 

They all lived happily ever after, even visiting the Prince’s old tower from time to time but, of course, making sure that no one else would ever be forced to live there again.  

Long ago, there lived a king and queen who longed for a child. After many years of trying without success, the desperate couple sought guidance from a Romani fortune teller renowned for her proficiency and sagacity. To their delight, the old woman revealed that they would soon welcome a son. 

‘He shall be blessed with good health and a brilliant mind,’ she prophesied as she gazed into her crystal ball. ‘In fact, I see the most beautiful being in the world.’

The elated king and queen paid the fortune teller a handsome sum, then returned to their palace to await their son and heir. 

Prince Cedric arrived the following year on a blustery spring morning. Whilst the infant boy was healthy and remarkably alert, he wasn’t what one would call ‘beautiful’. With his protruding forehead, bulbous nose, weak chin, and sticky-outie ears, he had a face only a doting parent could love. You’ll be glad to know that the king and queen adored their son immensely and spent many idle hours admiring their wonderful creation. 

Everyone in the kingdom knew at first glance that their new prince was no looker. It was plain for all to see. But no one ever spoke of his most unfortunate appearance. Instead, they treated the boy as any living being should be treated—with love, kindness, decency, and respect. Having grown up in this nurturing environment, Cedric matured into a thoughtful, good-natured boy. The youngster was often seen about town helping the elderly tend their gardens, distributing meals to the poor, or calling on the infirm at their homes. Cedric was no stranger in the palace, either. He visited the staff daily to assist them with their duties—even the most unpleasant ones—and always did so with a (crooked) smile.

When Cedric reached adulthood, the king and queen invited princesses from neighbouring kingdoms to attend a grand ball in their son’s honour. On the day of the soirée, Cedric paced nervously along the palace corridors. The thought that his future wife—the someday queen—could present herself that very evening was too exciting! Soon, a train of carriages arrived, and one by one, hopeful maidens in frilly frocks entered the ballroom. But the moment they caught sight of the awkward-looking prince, they averted their eyes and didn’t spare him another glance. Some insolent young ladies even whispered vicious words amongst themselves. ‘Prince Charming? More like, Prince Alarming!’ 

Princess Anja, however, did not look away, nor did she utter unkind words. Rather, she asked Cedric to dance. Anja and Cedric spent the entire evening in each other’s company, dancing, chatting, and having a marvellous time getting to know one another. By the time the clock struck midnight, Anja had fallen hopelessly in love with the benevolent prince. 

‘But how could you possibly love someone so … ugly?’ one haughty princess asked. 

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Anja said. ‘Prince Cedric’s soul is beautiful, which makes him the most beautiful being in the world!’ 

Muddleena’s imagination was a wonderful place to live. Stories constantly flowed. From Knights on white horses galloping across the nation to save the damsel, who by the way, had already tamed the dragon and was thinking of ways she could use it’s fiery breath as an alternative to fossil fuel, but loved the romantic gesture and married one of the knights anyway. To toy soldiers who came to life while everyone slept, and had parties under the dining table. To Witches living off of the land in blissful solitude. Just your normal everyday stuff really! 

As a child Muddleena would spend hours writing page upon page so these stories could live forever. It was only as she got older she realised nobody could read them, in fact, after a while she couldn’t either. You see, the poor girl has been cursed with a neurodiverse brain. Which made her words, and thoughts, swirl. They would sound wonderful in her head but when she tried to get them on paper they got lost on the journey to her hand. Those that did come out were jumbled. It was suggested, that as the journey from her imagination to her mouth was shorter, then her words might not get lost as easily, so she tried speaking her stories. 

The words flowed, her imagination danced and sang and sparkled. Muddleena was in her element. She looked at her audience, wanting to see the joy on their faces as they danced along with her. But the faces looking back were blank and confused. You see, the words she thought she had said and what actually came out of her mouth, were two very different things.

The Mischievous brain nymphs of neurodiversity, love nothing more than messing with her internal wiring. Laughing as they switch the plugs mid way through Muddleena’s ideas. Cutting multiple thought strands every few inches and sticking them together in random order. If these strands were yarn they could be used to make Joseph’s technicolour dream coat, but only if there were time to untangle the knotted mass first! 

For many decades Muddleena let the brain nymphs quash her dream of becoming an author, even though the stories in her head never stopped. And I mean never! Even when she slept the stories and ideas continued. But as she got older Muddleena realised she no longer cared if she made a fool out of herself getting the words wrong. She decided she would laugh along with the brain nymphs when they made her forget what she was doing, while she was actually doing it. She learnt to write notes and reminders. To make lists and charts to help her with day to day life. Who cares if it has taken nearly a whole decade to write just one book. She will be her own shining knight, she might not be able to beat neurodiversity but there was no way she was letting it win either!

Long time ago, in a faraway land

lived a king, in a castle, tall and grand.

But though he was rich, and of gold he had plenty

he smiled, almost never, as his life it was empty.

And each day he’d sit in his room full of treasure

and rue the cruel fact that it gave him no pleasure

as the thing he missed most just couldn’t be bought:

companionable friendship - of the commoner sort.

One day there alighted on the royal window sill

a magpie that spoke, said, ‘I mean you no ill

but you’re clearly unhappy and in need of some mates

so, let’s get you beyond the old castle gates!’

Said the king, ‘Can I trust you? What’s in it for you?’

but in place of answer the bird simply flew

and picked up a ring and a bracelet then said

‘Do these make you happy?’ The king shook his head.

‘Alas! My dear magpie, if truth be told

There has to be more to life than mere gold

but tell me, my friend, what do you propose?’

‘Well, the first thing,’ he cawed, ‘is a new set of clothes!

And a shave, and a haircut, so no-one will know

that it’s your royal highness that I’ve got in tow.

I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon round the back

of the old castle wall, by the old wooden shack.’

So the king, as arranged with the bird, the next day

dressed up like a peasant and made his own way

to the woodcutter’s hut for his rendezvous

where the magpie explained what he had to do.

‘Now King, don’t be anxious, and try to relax,

and be sure to avoid all talk of tax.

Talk of sport, or the weather, but one thing is critical: 

steer clear, over beer, of all things political!’

The king nodded sagely and practised his lines

and mentioned (not once) rich food or fine wines, or

banquets or jousting or something or other

to make one suspicious and so blow his cover.

The bird, by now, had grown all the bolder,

listening while perched on the king’s royal shoulder

said ‘Great, you’ve now got it, the alehouse awaits!

I wish you good fortune and a bunch of new mates!’

With that he was gone and the king was once more

Standing, alone, by the thick alehouse door…

…Well, enough to relate, the hours flew by

With such mirth and laughter till sunrise was nigh!

Then the king waved farewell to his newly-found mates

And made for the castle and its twenty-foot gates

then snuck in the back by a secret trapdoor

to his empty bedchamber on the twenty-first floor.

‘Oh my God! It’s all gone! All my jewels, all my treasure!

But, can I claim that it gave me real pleasure?

And - will I miss it? Truly, I’ll never!

And look! In its place - a black and white feather!’

His head he threw back and he roared with delight

And he never more slept a happier night!